


flightless

by lionsenpai



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:15:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years is a long time to hate, but Morrigan makes it easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	flightless

**Author's Note:**

> Fixing the fact that Morrigan and Leliana never interact at the ball. Spiteful ladies who used to be friends ahead.

The Game was afoot.

With Empress Celene reaffirming her throne upon the bodies of her former consort and her own cousin, Leliana had never seen such activity. The dances continued, the wine flowed, and every few moments a toast was proposed in the name of the Empress, the Empire, or the Inquisitor, and when no consensus could be made, nobles either celebrated all three or called for a duel. The Winter Palace thrummed with life, and Leliana allowed herself to be forgotten, the Nightingale and Left Hand of the Divine last season's slippers compared to Inquisitor Lavellan.

She roamed the crowds, talking to few and listening to all. One of the Brassard's son's speculated on the Inquisition's influence with the head of the Alyons family, talking in low whispers about the potential there. Leliana could not help a small laugh as she passed; the Brassard family might hope to play to their daughter's templar roots, but the Inquisitor would not align with them when that meant alienating the Montforts.

In a small corner of the gardens, two lower nobles—Launcets she suspected, but how did they even get in?—made motions with their hands more than words with their mouths. They looked over their shoulders often, but Leliana was far above, overlooking the gardens from the balcony, and she heard every traitorous word that slipped from their lips. The Inquisitor would not even hear of their plans; such a trifle was well within the abilities of her agents. She listened just long enough for a location and then moved on, strolling the length of the balcony and then ducking back into the palace.

It was the ballroom which celebrated most joyously. She disappeared among the people, just another face in the crowd, and soft voices proclaiming love and devotion drifted to her. The Inquisitor was not the only one with admirers. Cullen had attracted attention too, and all of it good even despite his gruff opinions on politics and the Game.

If the secrets within the Winter Palace were tiny morsels, she was the Nightingale gorging herself on them, filling herself until even she had trouble keeping track of everything she learned.

She would need to consult with both Vivienne and Josephine and compare notes after they had all returned to Haven, though Vivienne was likely to keep her learned secrets to herself. She would need to be suitably obtuse in her inquiries, but such was the nature of the Game.

With little time left to the night, however, Leliana looked to the dance floor longingly. It had been so long since she'd last indulged, and she was at the _Winter Palace_ of all places. Josephine had left to check in on the notably absent Inquisitor—she had been doing so well too!—and had yet to return, and both Sera and Cassandra seemed more likely to draw blood than step foot on the floor. Perhaps... Oh, Lienne of the Montsimmards would be about somewhere. There hadn't been word between the two of them since they'd last seen each other at a ball, but Leliana was certain she would not snub her for it—at least not openly.

Besides, what was a dance without a little danger?

Leliana turned her eyes upon the crowds, but it wasn't the soft features of Lienne which caught her attention. The air tingled with magic, and in a sea of creams and soft plums, Morrigan parted the crowds in her dark violets and inky blacks, full lips curled into a faintly pleased smile.

"Leliana," she greeted, skirts swaying as she moved closer. "Tis been some time, has it not? I had wondered if you would seek me out."

The years had done little to diminish Morrigan, that much was clear. Her hair fell in loose curls around her face, as dark as the day they'd met, and the lines of her face had grown sharper and more attractive with time. True to what Leliana remembered, she dressed in silks and wore the riches of the Winter Palace upon her skin, gold hanging from her neck and wrists. Leliana followed the dip of her neckline; she hardly thought Morrigan remembered when they'd spoken of dresses during the Blight, but she had taken care to dress herself for her station, playing up her most attractive features.

Her own garb must have looked so drab in comparison, but Leliana lifted her chin with grace, giving a half-smile in response. "I had considered it, but examining each spider in the Winter Palace seemed awfully tedious—especially with the assassins."

Morrigan laughed, unconcerned with those who turned and looked, and all at once Leliana felt the eyes of half a dozen nobles upon them and knew that twice as many who were twice as shrewd would be listening in now. How unfortunate for her that Morrigan still drew eyes like a flame, brilliant and untempered. Once she'd drawn her gaze as well, but that had been nearly ten years gone.

"I prefer the raven's form now. Those with wings often see the world with the most clarity, wouldn't you agree?"

"Birds of a feather then? You assume much." Leliana's tone was warm in a way her eyes were not. "What is it you want, Morrigan?"

There had been no time to plan for Morrigan, not with Lavellan’s less than eloquent social grace, the Venatori, and Empire’s throne to win or lose. And honestly, Morrigan had been a shade for years, lurking within the shadows and sowing rumors of her own to remain veiled in uncertainty. Leliana commanded the most extensive network of spies in Thedas, yet even she had only heard whispers regarding her. That she had shown herself at all was remarkable.

"I used to hate your exuberance, but your scorn is even less appealing." She frowned, not bothering with the pleasantries the Game required. How she had survived so long in the Winter Palace was just as much as mysterious as it was a testament to her ruthlessness. "The walls echo loudly here, if you have care to listen, and I have heard many things tonight.” Her eyes were molten gold. “You have spoken to the Inquisitor of me, and unkindly so.”

Leliana met her with a kindly tilt of her lips. "I advise her with truths, and you are a dangerous woman."

"You have not forgotten. That is good. Yet mistrusting ears hear no words, and what use is my guidance to an Inquisition which fails to hear it?"

She didn't balk, didn't even frown. "You have no seat with the Inquisition."

Morrigan smiled again, that mocking, jagged grin that made Leliana's skin itch. It unsettled, and she knew it. "Your little birds have not sung of it yet? I thought the Nightingale might have known of it before even I." She hummed. "Empress Celene has seen prudent to lend my expertise to the Inquisition. I shall be returning with you to Skyhold."

Leliana pursed her lips, expression going blank. “The Inquisitor?”

“Has been told. She might learn gratitude to have someone of my abilities to advise her.”

“No one would question your prowess, Morrigan—only your loyalty.”

It flickered only for a moment: the pull of her lips, the baring of teeth. Morrigan inclined her head and scowled, and when she spoke, her voice was flat, dead.

“So the songbird is a vulture pulling foul entrails from the dead.  How pleasant.” Morrigan sneered. “Alistair—”

“His memory is poisoned with your tongue,” Leliana said, her teeth snapping despite herself. They’d attracted much attention, yet she could not curb the venom in her tone when she said, “You will not speak of him.”

The Marquis de Lise passed, her gaze intent behind the elegant emerald encrusted ivory of her mask. She could feel them circling like scavengers, teeth and claws befouled with the scrapes they clung to so tightly.

“Yet twas not I who slew him.”

“We remember Maferath’s betrayal though it was by the flames Andraste perished. You are the same.”

How refreshing to see her with such an expression. When they had traveled together, Morrigan had given her little more than exasperation, annoyance. Leliana’s words had been water against stone then—no tract. Now Morrigan turned her head sharply, eyes flashing malignantly.

“I have forgotten my purpose in seeking you out. Have I need of anymore of your Chantry’s drivel, I shall find you again at Skyhold.”

“I might remind you,” Leliana said before she could escape. She’d always had great talent for running away, but Leliana did not intend to give her that mercy. “If we might speak elsewhere.”

Morrigan hesitated. “You claim to know my mind?”

“You are not so hard to read.”

A beat passed, and the sound of Leliana’s pulse in her ears drowned the music and light chatter of the ballroom. Then Morrigan spoke. “Tis folly if you mean to do me harm.”

Leliana smiled. “It is good you have not forgotten—I am a dangerous woman too.”

The Winter Palace boasted of the sweetest vintages of the south and west alike, yet none compared to the taste of Morrigan’s displeasure, her great unease. There were few things Leliana had ever savored more than the sight of her then: calculating, measuring, her eyes narrow with suspicion.

After a moment, she nodded and said, “Follow me.”

The people parted for them like crows from a kill, eyes wary and hungry, yet not daring enough to approach. Leliana knew there would be talk even in the wake of the Empress’ survival. They would be illicit lovers, plotting usurpers, and demon worshipers all, but only until Cullen took a woman to the dance floor or the next duel broke out. Their departure would be remembered for a night, an hour, a handful of moments until something more pressing—more _valuable_ —presented itself. Such was the nature of the Game.

The vestibule held little attraction compared to the ballroom, but the quiet gave their expressions weight, the space between them filled with things yet to be said. Leliana held her head high and shadowed Morrigan up the stairs, affording her neither rank nor authority when she took up position on her right.

It was subtle, but Morrigan was clever. She would see the meaning in it just as easily as the guards and servants who would later report back to their counts and duchesses.

Morrigan didn’t bother with small talk, but Leliana hadn’t expected she would. Instead, as they turned down a corridor to the right and passed many doors, Leliana made a note of each one and memorized the faces of the servants they met. That she could see their faces at all spoke volumes about how deep within the Winter Palace they were. Unmasked servants would not have been anywhere a careful eye might glimpse them, yet they roamed freely here, disappearing into hallways and gold inlaid mahogany doors when they caught sight of the two of them.

Finally, they ascended a grand staircase and stood before white marble doors with intricate whorls of gold depicting the royal family’s device on each door: a rearing lion with eyes of amethyst. The stones would have been as big as Leliana’s head, the doors nearly thrice her size, but Morrigan merely waved her hand and the marble stirred. The way opened before them, and Leliana found that Morrigan had led them to the Winter Palace’s great library.

“This shall suffice?” Morrigan asked, tone dry.

Leliana did not answer for a moment. The shelves stretched as high as the ceilings, towering before them like great pillars, yet the room was nearly as long as it was tall, and there seemed to be no end to the tomes. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, its light casting warm hues across the pure white of the floors and walls, but it was truly the ceiling’s mosaic which caught her eye.

A million tiles depicted the battle of Hunter Fell in all its bloody glory. The Archdemon Toth had fallen to the combined Tevinter-Orlesian army at the end of the Third Blight, but here he remained forever, immortalized in combat with three Grey Wardens.

Leliana felt her jaw tighten and tore her gaze away. The library was… It would do.

“You spend much of your time here, no?”

Morrigan had an annoyed noise in the back of her throat and strode past Leliana into the library. There were dozens of nooks and crannies set with plush couches and carved tables, corners accented with white lilies in purple vases and glass encased flames for reading.

Morrigan settled into a loveseat, her skirts creased at her waist, and leaned back, leveling her gaze at Leliana. “When it suits me.”

When she followed, her footsteps were silent, barely touching the ground truly. “Interesting,” she said, sitting adjacent to Morrigan on one of the long, pillowed couches.

“Your interest is misplaced. Tis a place of learning and quiet, nothing more.” Her eyes remained steadfast on Leliana, though a more thoughtless person may have let their eyes wander to the mosaic. It was less surprising that Morrigan had survived for so long within Val Royeaux seeing her now.

Alone with her—if anyone could be truly alone in the Winter Palace—Leliana did not lower her voice or play at smiles. Her lips thinned. “I would not have thought you capable of such a guilty conscious.”

“Yet tis no surprise you still play at useless games.” Morrigan rolled her eyes. “You have asked for solitude, and I have delivered. Let us be done talking in circles.”

Leliana titled her head. “You expect your answer with no cost? A pity you have learned nothing from your time in Val Royeaux.”

“I _expect_ to know what it is you think you know of my mind.”

Leliana tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and mirrored Morrigan’s lounging posture. “How much do the stories cover of the Hero of Ferelden’s life? The tales of her deeds have become quite scarce in recent years, no?”

Morrigan did not speak, yet she could neither look away. To do so would be to admit Leliana had seen through her.

“If I could not see you now, I would not have believed it,” Leliana said, her hands becoming fists. She was glad Josephine and Lavellan could not see her now, her teeth grit, jaw set. “You are a vile woman, Morrigan, to claim to care what became of my love after you _abandoned_ us all.”

Her eyes dropped, her mouth a tight line of remorse. “Tis… My greatest regret. Yet I saw no alternative then.”

“You make excuses.”

Morrigan’s brows dipped, her eyes flashing. She straightened in her seat, a bowstring pulled taut, a chord of a lute to be plucked. Leliana had not played in many years, yet hatred guided her fingers easily, and the music she drew from her was sweet with rancor.

“Tis not _your_ forgiveness I seek. Spare me your judgement.”

“Know you shall _never_ have my forgiveness. Nor my trust. I do not make the same mistakes twice. You will be watched closely at Skyhold, and if you _dare_ attempt any treachery which would endanger the Inquisitor or the Inquisition, know I will be the one to put you down.”

Leliana leaned forward, all cool fire, narrowed eyes, and barbed tongue. “Tabris heard her Calling four years ago and joined the Legion of the Dead just as the Frostbacks began to thaw in Spring.”

They had found an Andraste’s Grace growing on the path to Orzammar, and it had been the last thing Tabris had ever given her, her eyes ringed with yellow, the taint in her blood turning her veins black. Zevran, Wynne, and even Sten had been written at Tabris’ insistence and met them there, yet it had been Shale and her Mabari who had escorted Tabris down to the Deep Roads to fulfill her final duty.

Leliana couldn’t help the sudden constriction of her throat at the memory. Tabris had squeezed them all in a final embrace, and when there had been no more delaying, she had clasped Leliana’s hands in her own and pressed her lips to her forehead. _Dareth shiral, emma vhenan_ , she’d whispered, and then she’d turned with a small smile and nodded to the dwarven commander and that had been it.

Zevran had touched Leliana’s elbow, and Wynne muttered prayers or wards or both, yet Sten only stood there watching her go, his lips mouthing _ataash varin kata_.

The sight of her descending into the Deep Roads, her daggers polished and sharp as death for her last battle, brought hot tears to her eyes, then and now. Leliana squeezed her eyes shut and turned away, and it wasn’t fair that she could not see the look on Morrigan’s face. It wasn’t fair that even when Morrigan had done so much, betrayed so many, Tabris _still_ tried to find her before the end.

“I am… I had _hoped_ …” Leliana heard her say.

That she would speak at all was too much. That she would _presume_ to consider her a friend, that she would _care_ made Leliana ache in ways dagger and knives had never been able to, that even Marjolaine had not managed.

“She did not ask for you,” Leliana bit, turning on Morrigan. “She never looked for you.”

The words were blows, and Morrigan did not draw breath. Leliana expected her to bleed, for the edges of her words to stain her skin crimson, but then again, Morrigan had never bled for anyone.

Leliana rose in one swift motion, and it was disgust and hatred on her lips, her own pulse in her ears. “In the end, you were _nothing_ to her.”

The lie was worth the pained noise Morrigan made, her mouth twisted in anguish.

It lasted a breath and no longer. Her features hardened into stone, into steel. The air about her fizzled with magic, and when she spoke, all the weakness had been banished from her voice. “Tis good to know her fate. You may leave me now.”

Leliana did not need to contest her. She clasped her hands behind her back and turned on her heel, striding to the door without a single glance back at Morrigan or the mosaic adorning the roof. She pushed the doors open and did not hesitate at the threshold. She slipped out in the hallway and did not waver, her head held high, her eyes hard.

Behind her, the only sound was the beat of wings and mournful call of a raven.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inquisition's greatest flaw is that it addressed the issues between these two with Leliana essentially calling Morrigan a tricky witch and telling Lavellan to be careful. That's it. Are you kidding me.


End file.
